


Fools Rush In

by MrsHamill



Series: Grandmother Raven: The Path of a Shaman [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-10
Updated: 2001-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Blair has a mild panic attack and Jim makes spinach lasagna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

> Third in the Grandmother Raven; the Path of a Shaman stories. This one picks up at the end of Storm Island, just before Red Ice. If it's good, blame Fox and Christi. If it's bad, blame me!

          "For God's sake give me someone who has brains enough to make a fool of himself."  
  
          -- Robert Louis Stevenson  
  


* * *

"So, anyway," Blair said, sipping cider in Grandmother Raven's cubbyhole office, "she's in jail now. Along with all the other Neanderthals. And we still didn't get any fishing in."

Grandmother Raven shook her head in amazement. "Blair," she asked finally, "do you two _ever_ go anywhere just for fun?"

Blair laughed ruefully. "I'm beginning to wonder that myself," he said. "You know, with Jim's special abilities, anything that happens within several miles of us gets known. We end up running into trouble even when we hadn't planned anything weirder than washing the car."

"Or it finds you," she said dryly. "Blair, you and Jim would make a good action-adventure show on television. No one else would believe it."

"Yeah, well," Blair replied, "there are times when I can agree with you." He sounded bitter to himself even, and knew that she had picked up on it.

"What is it, Blair?" she asked.

"Oh... it's nothing. Not really." She waited patiently for him to continue, and after a moment, he did. "Remember, a while ago, you told me to get over this thing that a shaman is something more than human? Well, that's the way I feel again. I let another woman get past me, believed her and let her put me and Jim in danger. I'm beginning to think I'm just going to give up on women altogether."

"Blair." Grandmother Raven's voice was stern. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. In all the time I've known you, I've never known you to be so self-flagellating. You like girls, pretty girls especially, and you'd like to believe it when people claim to be in trouble. There's nothing wrong with that."

Sighing heavily, Blair ran his hands through his hair and studied the ceiling for a while. "I fired a semi-automatic gun for the first time, day before yesterday," he murmured. "Told Jim I didn't want to, and I didn't, and he was so good about it. Told me to fire over their heads. Basically told me, leave the killing to me, Blair. I don't want you to sully your hands. Don't want to take the chance that you'll do something stupid -- again -- and get us all into trouble -- again."

There was stony silence from the other end of the room, and Blair didn't have to look to know what expression Grandmother had on her face. "I'm tired of being a liability, Grandmother. I want Jim to... I want Jim to respect me. To be able to count on me. Most of me... most of me wants... wants to be his partner, but there's a part of me that thinks I never will be."

"And how does _Jim_ feel about this... about you? Or have you not bothered to ask him?" Grandmother asked frostily.

"Oh hell, Grandmother," Blair replied wearily. "This isn't about him, is it? It's about me. And how I feel about becoming a shaman. _His_ shaman."

"I should think it's not," she said, and Blair winced at the anger in her voice. "You say you want to become his partner. Well, dammit, Blair, you can't be someone's partner without their participation! No, you just listen to me, young pup," she said, when he tried to interrupt her. "I don't know where this deep well of insecurity came from, and I don't like it. Get rid of it. You can't progress until you do. And until you progress, from this -- this waffling, you're merely standing still. And a motionless target is an easy one to hit, Blair."

He couldn't respond to that, merely looked at her sadly. "I don't know what to do," he whispered, finally.

"Of course you do," she snapped back. "You're avoiding the issue here, Blair, and if I have to force you to face it, then so be it. What are you afraid of? And don't you dare give me some flip, psycho-babble answer. Because you _know_ the answer, and it lies right smack in front of you."

Blair's face twisted up in the anguish of thought. Swallowing heavily, his voice strangled with emotion, he said, "I'm afraid I'm going native. I'm afraid of crossing the line, becoming what I'm studying. I've never had to participate before, Grandmother, I've only had to watch. And... I'm afraid I'll screw it up."

"Well. It's about time," she muttered, leaning back in her chair and sipping her cider.

"You knew that all along, didn't you?" Blair said, his voice holding only a hint of accusation. To his surprise, he found he _wasn't_ surprised that she knew him so well.

"You're an anthropologist, Blair," she replied, shrugging. "I've taken anthropology courses, I've read books, hell, I helped you edit your Master's thesis. You told me you were studying Jim, then told me you were living with him. You told me about Sentinels, about their back-ups, then you told me you are Jim's Guide. You bring him to see me -- even a blind person can see the ties between you. You've already gone native, Blair. You just need to admit it."

Blair turned his stricken eyes on her. Admit it? Admit the one thing that could destroy his entire dissertation -- his entire life 'til now? "I -- I can still write it," he whispered. "I know I can. I can find the objectivity -- somehow. Somewhere."

"Of course you can," she reassured him. "I have faith in you, Blair, even if you don't. Jim has faith in you too. He relies on you. Haven't you noticed that? Where the two of you are concerned, he rules but you decide."

"No... no that's not..." All the times when Jim had turned to him came rushing back, and Blair staggered, even seated in his chair. "He doesn't... he doesn't like to admit needing. Christ! Everyone who's ever loved him has left him, basically, from what he's told me. He's become self-sufficient, completely contained." Dawning realization made his eyes get big. "No wonder he's been pissed."

"Self-sufficient... as you have been," Grandmother Raven agreed. "Relying upon yourself for everything. But now you need Jim, need him to complete your dream, to finish your dissertation, and don't you think you should expect to feel a bit overwhelmed, even a bit angry about it?"

Desperately needing to pace, Blair practically leapt to his feet and began walking the length of the small room. "How have I missed this?" he muttered to himself. "Jim's been such a bear lately, having our vacation ruined didn't help, and he's worse whenever I come here or when I meditate. Or try to meditate." He stopped and looked at Grandmother Raven. "I haven't been able to meditate lately," he admitted. "Not well, anyway, and it's made me kind of grumpy. I think maybe Jim's picked up on that. I'm just... it's like... I can't find my center. Things intrude. Things like my insecurities, right?"

"I would say that's a good place to start," she hedged carefully. "There could be a lot to it, though, Blair. I don't like it that you haven't been able to meditate. Tell me, when was the last time Jim saw his spirit guide?"

"I -- I don't know," Blair said, confused. "He doesn't always tell me when he does."

"But you should be able to sense it, Blair," Grandmother Raven said earnestly. "Just as you did that first day when he was here. And, if you haven't been able to meditate, then you haven't found your spirit guide either, have you?"

Blair slowly walked to his chair and sat back down. "No. No, I haven't. And you know, I kept thinking, while I was trying -- and failing -- to meditate, that maybe I'm not supposed to have one. Maybe... maybe all of this is for nothing, and I'm not actually supposed to be a shaman. Maybe that's not what Incacha meant when he said what he said."

His companion's mouth dropped open, and Blair could see the exasperation in her eyes. "No, wait, let me finish," he said, with a small grin. "Incacha was the shaman to the Chopec, because the Chopec needed a shaman. They are a small tribe, and need all the help they can get. But here, in Cascade, there's no real need for a shaman. Not in the sense Incacha was. Incacha passed his Way to me for a specific purpose; to help Jim find his way back to his spirit guide. Maybe, maybe that's all I needed to do. And all this angsting is useless. I've done what I needed to do, what he asked me to do, now I can just be... be Blair, I guess. Be Jim's Guide."

There was dead silence in the room for the space of several heartbeats. "That's an interesting theory," Grandmother Raven finally said, her voice completely devoid of emotion. "Do you believe it?"

Blair opened his mouth, ready to assert that he did, that it made sense, that it was a good theory. But no words came out, and in the back of his head he seemed to hear a sound very much like the lonesome howling of a wolf. He closed his mouth slowly, staring with resignation at the woman seated across from him. "I'm making excuses, aren't I?" he finally managed to say.

"That's for you to decide, Blair," she said, sighing, "not me. I can only show you the paths available to you. You have to choose which ones to walk, and you must walk them alone. I can only guide you so far on this."

"I'm as bad as Jim," Blair admitted ruefully. "I'm scared out of my wits by all this, and instead of admitting that to myself, I'm repressing it. It feels... it feels like every time I get close, I chicken out. Part of my brain is trying to get there, but most of it is just pulling me back."

"Let me see if I can get the quote right," Grandmother said, pursing her lips and thinking. "Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hatred, and..."

"Yeah, yeah, and they all lead to the dark side or whatever," Blair finished, laughing out loud, partially in relief. "I am NOT going to start calling you Obi-Wan. You can forget it. And when did you become such a Star Wars fan?"

She laughed along with him, and he could tell she was pleased to hear his laughter. "This is something you must overcome regardless of your path, Blair," she said once they had calmed down. "Believe me, I understand your reticence. I was there myself once, remember? But all of this is only going to cause you pain in the long run. You -- and Jim too."

"He's offered to help me," Blair said, his voice low. "Said, if I needed any information, or anything at all, he'd be there to help me. But I think this scares him as much as it does me. He's very much a physical kind of guy -- hell, we both are, for all that I was raised by the 'ultimate' flower child -- and this spiritual stuff tends to just freak him out. He'd undoubtedly be happier without it."

"As would we all, mostly," Grandmother Raven agreed. "It's difficult to explain to someone who has not had the experiences we have. Most people would think we're nuts and measure us for a straitjacket."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm just not imagining this whole thing, and I'm actually locked up in a rubber room somewhere," Blair said. Fidgeting, picking at a tear in his jeans, he continued. "Grandmother, how... how can I lose my fear?"

She snorted. "You can't _lose_ your fear, Blair," she said. "You can only overcome it. It's always going to be there. It can either cripple you or make you stronger. What it does is up to you."

"Up to me up to me up to me... I'm getting sick of that," Blair said, his voice sounding querulous even to him. "Just once, just _once_ I'd like to have a decision taken away from me. 'Let this cup pass...' Just once."

"And you'd hate it," Grandmother Raven laughed. "Face it, Blair, you're a control freak."

"I am not!" he protested, but laughed while he did so. "No way! That's _Jim_. Not me!"

"Then he's rubbing off on you," she retorted. "But the tendency was always there. You need to be in control, even in observing. The only thing holding you back now is your fears, your concerns. Overcome them."

Blair sat still for a little while, thinking about what she had said. He was facing a crisis -- the intellectual part of him recognized that -- and he could go many ways from there. What did he want? To be Jim's partner, for certain. But what else? And whatever it was, did he want it more than he wanted his Ph.D.? Did he want to be a shaman? Just a shaman, or Jim's shaman? To be Jim's... "I -- I just don't want to rush in," he said. "Don't want to do anything I'll regret. I have so many regrets..." he added sadly.

"You're far too young for real regrets, pup," she said gently. "Let them go. The only thing that matters now is now."

Blair looked down at his feet, upset, far too close to tears for his own liking. This was _nothing_ to cry about, for God's sake. His traitorous mind insisted on rerunning all the times he'd tried to be Jim's friend, he had tried hard for Jim and failed, or succeeded -- but only at the last minute... The times Jim had failed him. Which were precious few, he admitted. Jim could be a jerk at times, but he always came through for Blair when it counted. "Whatever Jim needs," he murmured, still staring at his toes. "That's what I'll do. What I always do."

He heard Grandmother Raven's sharp intake of breath, but she didn't say anything. After a while, once he felt more in control, he looked up. She sat across from him, watching him with an expression at once so tender and so exasperated he had to smile. "I think maybe I need more time," he found himself saying.

"I think maybe you do," she agreed. "Let me give you some books -- I know you always feel more comfortable with a book in your hand. You've read Casteneda, but there are a few others that make better sense. Here."

Rising, she moved to the shelves and selected three or four books for him to look at. "And keep trying to meditate," she urged him.

"I will," he promised.

"It's the best way to overcome your fears, Blair," she added, handing him the books. "Face them, like you did the last time we meditated together. Face them, confront them, realize they have no hold over you. Once you have cleared your head, you'll be able to think better."

Blair nodded, unwilling to speak.

* * *

  
Jim looked up with a smile as Blair walked into the loft, obviously appreciating the delicious smell in the room. "You're just in time, I just put the garlic bread in the oven," Jim said.  
  
"Hey, that's great, man," Blair said, hanging his coat on the hook. Jim frowned at him, aware there was a subtle difference. Without comment, Blair took his armload of books to his room, removed his shoes, and joined Jim in the kitchen. "Should I set the table?" he asked.  
  
"Uh, yeah, sure," Jim replied. While he busied himself removing the spinach lasagna from the oven and pouring their drinks, he watched Blair, trying to figure out what was wrong. They took their accustomed places at the table, and each took a serving.  
  
At no time did Blair meet Jim's eyes, and Jim realized this was where the difference lay. Well, that, and the fact that Blair hadn't spoken more than a dozen words since he came in. "So," he tried, forcing himself to say _something_ , "how did it go today?"  
  
"You mean at Grandmother's?" Blair asked, shoveling lasagna into his mouth. When Jim just nodded, Blair chewed, swallowed, then sipped his milk. "Okay, I guess," he said.  
  
And that was it? Jim looked at Blair through narrowed eyes. He wouldn't put it past Blair to be evasive, but this was a little strong, even for him. Blair's heart was beating a little fast, and he still smelled -- funny, almost like tears. "Everything all right, Chief?" Jim asked, striving for normalcy.  
  
"Yeah, well, no, but don't worry," Blair said, quirking a smile at Jim. "It's just something I need to work out for myself."  
  
God, how do people bring themselves to talk like this, Jim wondered bitterly. He wanted to say so much, tell Blair how much he meant to him, and he just couldn't. It wasn't in his nature. "Will... will you tell me if I can help, Chief? Because I will, if you need it."  
  
Blair smiled at Jim, that sweet smile that always made Jim feel ten feet tall. "I will," he promised. "It's just something that I need to work through for me, Jim."  
  
Looking down at his plate, Jim nodded. "Okay. Hey, Micki called," he said. "She wanted to know if we'd be interested in going to see some Russian poet who's in town. Apparently she knows him."  
  
"Dimitri Gordievsky," Blair said. "I know. She sponsored him. She sent me email on it the other day, I just haven't had time to get back to her. You want to go?"  
  
Jim shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose so. He's going to be giving some kind of a press conference Saturday at noon, and then she's invited us back to the Center for lunch with him. I told her I'd give her a call tomorrow."  
  
"Okay, yeah, I--I'd like to go. He's a fascinating person."  
  
"Maybe you could tell me about him?" Jim asked, trying to get the old Blair back.  
  
"Maybe later," Blair said, concentrating on his food. "This is really good, Jim."  
  
"Thanks, Chief," Jim said. How could a conversation so mundane sound so foolish?

end


End file.
